


Both the Best and Worst of Both Worlds

by Waldo



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, M/M, Novel-related: Twilight Streets, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-31
Updated: 2008-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 00:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's the worst of any world because you don't really belong anywhere, because you are never sure of those around you."  (TS, p.126)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both the Best and Worst of Both Worlds

**Author's Note:**

>   Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/horizonssing/profile)[**horizonssing**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/horizonssing/) Day 26 - the lyrics to Rosemary Cloney's "Bad for You".  This story is based on the conversation in "Twilight Streets" where Gwen decides that she's being clever talking to Ianto about him being bisexual and all she does is piss him off.  And the way the author wrote it I had an moment not unlike the Arthur in "Velvet Goldmine" where I wanted to jump up and go "That's me!  That there!  That's me!"  The author completely captured my feelings and had them come out Ianto's mouth.  It was brilliant.  I've put an end-note below the story with the relevant passage from the book for those who haven't read it.

It was a reasonably good day.  Owen wasn't driving anyone insane and Tosh had successfully identified the last three artifacts Jack had given her in record time.  Jack had jazz from the thirties spilling out of his office as he actually signed off on the stack of forms Ianto had given him with his morning coffee.

So Ianto couldn't figure out why he was in such a sour mood.  He found himself not wanting to talk to anyone, and for the first time in ages that anyone included Jack.  And he had no idea why.

They'd gone out the night before, had a very nice dinner and spent a good hour of the movie they'd ended up at making out in the back row.  It had been fun.  For all that Jack was a dozen decades older than he was, Jack knew just how to make him feel like they were two teenagers who'd have to be in before curfew and there was something in that that Ianto found inevitably charming.

But of course they had no curfew.  They'd ended up down in Jack's quarters until reasonably late that morning.  Gwen had already been there when he'd surfaced to make coffee and scout out something edible from the fridge for breakfast.

She'd given him a knowing look and a wink.

And something about that smugness made him want to just slap that look off her face.  Which, honestly, shocked him.  He wasn't a violent person by nature and even more rarely did he want to lash out against someone he'd call a friend on a better day.  But god dammit she was awfully nosey about his relationship with Jack.  Like he was the token gay boy in her little circle of friends, someone she could talk with about wedding dresses and condoms in the same conversation.  And she expected him to be able to advise her on both.

He leaned on the counter realizing that he was still, a week later, pissed about that conversation they'd had on their way into Tretarri.

Gwen would never get it.  Gwen would never understand the feelings that came with not being what your parents wanted you to be.  Or at least possibly not ending up what they wanted you to be.  And then how that got compounded by the fact that in today's day and age you were expected to be proud of who you were, who ever that may be.  But when you straddled the line between two worlds and didn't quite fit in to either, it could be beyond confusing.  It could be crippling.

But she was busy making wedding plans and fitting into her perfectly made, perfectly acceptable slot in society.  And her attempts to say that she accepted him for who he was came off as nothing more than a polite way to pry into his life and his feelings.  And if he didn't understand them, how could he explain them to her.  Not that he wanted to.

Hell, he couldn't even explain this to Jack.  Jack was so open, so unashamed of the way he felt for anyone and anything that he couldn't imagine him really understanding of still being wary that 'people' would judge.  That he'd find himself alone on the wrong part of a back alley and that someone wouldn't take out their bad day on the queer.  Or that he'd simply be labeled a slut for the fact that he could be interested in someone based on personality and not by their gender.  That to know that in a world where theoretically you have a greater chance of finding someone who might be interested in you than those who have made their camp firmly on one side of the fence or the other, that you feel like that much more of a complete loser when you find yourself standing alone at a party or at a club.

It was a long, old debate he'd had with himself.  Tell the world to fuck off and take him for who he is, or stay safe behind his pressed suits and quite reserve and the stories of his poor, dead girlfriend.

He trudged up to the tourist office and hoped that he'd be left alone to brood.  Gwen hadn't done anything, not really.  Since he'd told her to fuck off about him and Jack she really had.  Occasional little looks, but not a word had been said.  And no one else deserved his ire because he wasn't brave enough to decide how to conduct his affairs in the daylight. 

He gave a little snort at his own internal double entendre.

He wondered if Jack was so unafraid because he really couldn't be killed if someone took exception to the way he lived or if that was just truly how open people of his time and place were.  He wished he could be somewhere where he didn't have to make the decision: be honest or be safe.

He dug deep into his thoughts as he straightened the flyers and postcards.  Was he happy being in a relationship with Jack?  Yes.  The time when Jack had been gone with the Doctor had been miserable.  He'd missed him so horribly.  So much so that he'd had absolutely no compunction about telling Jack so when they'd been talking about sending Tommy back to nineteen eighteen.  He certainly wasn't embarrassed to be seen with him.  Last night at the cinema had been proof enough of that.

He sighed when he realized that, sure, in a room full of strangers he'd never have to talk to he was okay with what had happened in that back row.  He was reasonably sure he wouldn't have carried on like that had, say, Gwen and Rhys been there with them.  But then he wondered if he'd have made out with Lisa like that in public, in front of people he knew.  Probably not.  Maybe that was more a facet of his personality than his bisexuality.

Someone - he couldn't remember now if it had been Tosh or Gwen – had quipped that Jack was bad for Ianto because Ianto was more likely to make smart remarks now than he was when he was first hired.  He didn't dare respond to that the way he wanted to 'Well, I couldn't very well go around calling attention to myself with my girlfriend hooked up to the powergrid in the basement, now could I?  Don't exactly have to worry anymore about that now.'

So again, more situation-specific than significant-other specific.

His elbows were on the desk and his head was in his hands when he felt warm arms around his waist.  "You've been brooding all day," Jack whispered into his ear, and yet, fortunately, Ianto detected nothing provocative in it.  Just simple concern.

He turned in Jack's arms, letting his own arms go around Jack in response and in that moment he knew what he wanted - at least for the next hour or so.  Everyone else with their high-minded opinions, including Gwen bloody Cooper and her 'I'm so progressive that I'm okay with the fact that you'll apparently up for shagging anyone' attitude could go to hell.

Maybe Jack wouldn't completely understand, but that was okay too, because he'd still be there.  And he'd do what he could to make Ianto comfortable and happy.  And it had been far too long since he'd been able to just relax and do what felt right.  And the rest of the world could just fuck off for a few hours.  
 

**Author's Note:**

> From Twilight Streets - p. 125 and 126.  (Americanized punctuation because that's how I type.)
> 
>  
> 
> "Do you like Abba?" she found herself asking Ianto.  As non sequiturs went, it was a good one.  
>      
> He looked at her.  "Is this going to lead to a 'Jack' conversation?"
> 
> "No."
> 
> "Fine, Then I admire the Andersson/Ulvaeus writing partnership as craftsmen and songsmiths.  I believe "One of Us" may be the best song written about relationship break-ups ever, and I have a soft spot for the fusion of witty lyrical content and poptastic danceabilty of "Voulez-Vous", but let me make this absolutely clear:  I bloody loathe "Dancing Queen".  All right?"
> 
> Gwen stopped walking and just looked at him.
> 
> "What?" he asked.
> 
> "You've had this conversation before, haven't you?"
> 
> "Might have."
> 
> "Jack?"
> 
> "You honestly think Jack knows anything about music after 1948?"
> 
> "Who then?"
> 
> "Doesn't matter."
> 
> "Who?" She started walking again.  "Come on.  I might die tonight, never knowing."
> 
> "Me mam."
> 
> "Aww.  When she found out about Jack?"
> 
> "When I was fourteen."
> 
> Gwen stopped again.  "I dunno which scared me more - that your mam worked you out ten years before you did, or that the fourteen-year-old Ianto Jones used the phrase 'poptastic danceability' without getting beaten up.'
> 
> Ianto stopped suddenly.  "She didn't work me out, Gwen.  No one has.  And if I ever do, I'll let you know."
> 
> Gwen smiled, nudged his arm.  "Oh come on, smile.  Lisa, Jack... being bisexual is hardly a crime.  Best of both worlds, isn't it?"
> 
> And Ianto pushed her away.  "No Gwen.  No, really it's bloody not.  It's the worst of any world because you don't really belong anywhere, because you are never sure of yourself or those around you.  You can't trust in anyone, their motives or their intentions.  And because of that, you have, in a world that likes its nice shiny labels, no true identity.  For Torchwood's 'Little Miss Sensitive', you don't half talk crap sometimes.  So do me a favour and shut up about it, all right?"


End file.
